


I Won't Say How Much I Love You

by hillnerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcoholism, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillnerd/pseuds/hillnerd
Summary: After Fred's death, George has been a mess. Angelina has been there for him through everything. She's tired and weary, but maybe if she can just get him well again, she can tell him how much she loves him.





	I Won't Say How Much I Love You

Angelina's stomach clenched as she knelt over the corner chair. She'd been able to dress in relative silence, but her keys and jacket would wake him if she didn't take the utmost care while moving them. She delicately unfolded her jacket from the chair, making sure the metal latches on the sleeves didn't jangle. She had nearly extracted it when she heard his voice behind her.

"What are you up to?" George asked from the bed, a sleepy, but curious smile on his face.

Angelina felt her face warm as she stood up straight from her ridiculous crouching position on the floor.

"I was trying to let you sleep in by being quiet, but if you want me to be noisy…" she said, letting her keys and jacket fall to the ground with a great clank.

George twisted his face up and yawned.

"Bit early for you to leave, innit?" he said, scooting over a bit towards the center of the bed. "Why don't you lie in with me a bit longer?"

"Some of us have errands to do and can't lie in all day," she replied, trying not to smile at him as she sat on the space he had made. He curled his legs behind her before quickly putting a hand to her face and bring her down to the bed, peppering her with kisses and playful bites.

"George! I need to get going," she said, half-heartedly twisting from his embrace. Truthfully, she wanted to stay curled in bed with him forever, but there were important things to do today that she could not put off any longer.

He gave her a tired smile. "Fine, I'll let you get to your mysteriously important early morning tasks."

"You going to go ahead and get up?" Angelina asked, hoping he'd say yes.

He yawned and made a face. "Naw, I'm pretty tired. Think I'll kip a bit longer."

She did her best to keep a frown from showing, and rubbed her fingers over his hair that he'd been keeping brutally short for almost a year.

"I miss being able to run my fingers through your hair," she said wistfully. He opened an eye and looked hard at her, before giving a shrug.

"Too much upkeep," he grunted, rolling over and pulling the comforter tight around his shoulders.

"I miss your face too," she added, tugging at his overly long beard.

Angelina wanted to shake George and give him a smack upside the head sometimes. He had improved so much over the past year. He had stopped his drinking, had started doing mail order WWW products, spent time with his family, and his smile reached his eyes more than half the time now. While this all remained true, he had behaviors that continued to trouble her.

He slept far too much, was still not eating enough, kept shearing off his hair, and growing a beard. George had always been broad, rosy cheeked, with thick wavy red hair and loads of energy. Now he was rather thin, pale, and could only show small spurts of energy. Between all this, he barely looked like himself, let alone Fred. She suspected looking less like Fred was the real goal, but hadn't the heart to confront him on this.

Despite his uncharacteristic pallor, hair choices, and leanness, George managed to keep a few aspects of his appearance that had originally drawn her in to him. No matter how much weight he lost, his shoulders remained wide and jaw square. He still had straight teeth with a playfully crooked smile. He still had the most expressive deep blue eyes of anyone she'd ever met. He still had that Weasley-red hair she loved to rake her fingers across, and freckles she loved to explore with her mouth.

Angelina had become quite addicted to him, so found herself spending more and more of her free time in the small one bedroom flat he'd been renting since the war ended. He hadn't so much as set foot in the flat he and Fred had shared above the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop. The flat he rented was pleasant enough, but never really seemed to reflect his personality as the old flat had. She hoped he'd eventually want to move back above the shop. It was perfectly placed for him to work and be inspired, no matter the hour. That was one step he'd have to take on his own, though. Perhaps it would be the final concrete sign of his healing she'd been looking for.

She doubted this would happen anytime soon. Just getting him to leave the house seemed a habitually Herculean task. A stint outside his flat seemed to deplete him of energy in record time. He had begun to hoard his stamina. To prepare for a simple night with family or friends, he'd lock himself away for hours, sometimes even days. He would smile, laugh, and almost seem himself the whole time. Afterwards he would come home a husk of himself, and immediately fall in to bed to sleep it off. His mother in particular would make him tired. She meant well, but her fussing over how ill he looked seemed to remind him of how changed he was, and how he couldn't be 'old George' anymore. After those sorts of evenings, he would get home, slam doors and not see anyone but Angelina for days.

George had a very short list of people who could actually reinvigorate him, instead of sapping his strength. It was hit or miss, but Lee, Ginny, Ron, Victoire, and Teddy were the most adept at leaving George intact. Unfortunately most of them had little time they could spend with George. Lee and Ginny were frequently out of town for their jobs, while Ron was a busy Auror. Victoire and Teddy were just little toddlers, so never were far from their caregivers whose company did little to make George feel energized. This left Angelina as George's main source of socialization.

As much as she worried that George needed more people in his life, Angelina didn't mind acting as George's sanctuary. She even revelled in it. There was comfort in curling up to talk and laugh about little nothings late into the night. His kisses, branding her as his, would leave her breathless and longing for more. She'd never been touched with half the reverent passion George would bring to their bed. He would need days to work up the energy to see others, but he always wanted Angelina in his flat, no matter what state he was in. A certain sort of pride nestled within her, knowing she was so special to George. Guilt often followed these moments of pride. A worry plagued her. Was she enabling his continued withdrawal from society?

After the war everyone seemed to be healing, but George seemed stuck and unable to really move on with his life. She knew he would never be able to stop mourning the loss of Fred, and she would never would ask him to stop! She did hope, however, to help him heal and start living a full life, instead of this half-life he kept living. It wasn't healthy to spend so much time home alone in bed. It just was not the life George was meant to lead. She knew he needed so much more, and even if he might hate her for it, she needed to start pushing him.

With that thought in mind, she leaned over and gave him a peck on his temple.

"Bye, George."

"I'll see you tonight, right?" she heard him ask from beneath the covers.

"If you like."

"I would," he said, moving the comforter down a bit, so he could look her in the eye.

"Well then I'll see you tonight. I'll make something for dinner after work."

"Beautiful woman  _and_  food?" he said with a smile before curling back up into his covers. "I'm looking forward to it."

With a firm swat to his backside — "Oy! Don't get me all excited then leave, woman!" — she put on her jacket and headed for the living room.

"Love you, Ange," she heard George call from the bedroom.

"I won't say how much I love you, George" she replied with a smile, before apparating into the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

The atrium was unpleasantly dark and hallways with crowds of magical people made her stomach clench. She couldn't help but think back to the final Battle of Hogwarts, and it made it a bit hard to breath normally. She forced herself to take steady breaths in and out, in and out… After centering herself a moment, she flipped her braids over her shoulder and willfully walked forward, head held high.

Angelina had only been to the Ministry a handful of times, but no matter how often she went, she always felt out of place. The golden statues had changed multiple times over the past years, and she had no interest in eyeing them today, or any day, for that matter. The atrium did nothing but bring her anger: anger at the government that failed them all so quickly, anger at the wizards and witches who went along with the genocide, and anger at herself for not doing more in the war. She had fought in the final battle, and defended people here and there, smuggling supplies and muggleborns a fair few times... But compared to many others, she felt she'd simply not done enough.

Working her way across the hall, like a fish swimming upstream, her shoulders were quickly becoming tense. She tried to will the tension away with a shrug of her shoulders, but knew nothing would work. She had get out of this crowded place as soon as possible.

She stepped to the side of the grand hall and approached the security desk. They checked her in and proffered a silver visitor's badge. She promptly made her way to the gold gated lifts, ribs feeling tight. They were just as packed with people, and violet-colored interdepartmental memos kept annoyingly flapping against her head. She silently repeated her mantra.

'In and out. Breathe in and out. Center yourself, Johnson.'

The lift made several stops before finally calling out, " _Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services._ "

The windows were magicked to let sunlight stream into the hall, and made it a great deal more pleasant than the austere halls from earlier. She finally felt she could breathe normally, and rolled her shoulders to let the tension leave her body.

Through a set of oak doors was the Auror Headquarters. It was highly informal and brightly lit, just as Angelina liked it. The cubicles were all covered in haphazardly placed photos, memos, and posters. The buzz of conversations, dictations, and occasional laughter made it feel almost cozy, despite the headquarters housing some of the most powerful wizards in Britain.

In one of the very last cubicles she found the wizard she was looking for. Ron Weasley was leaning back back in his chair with the end of a quill in his mouth, intensely studying a map covered in red pins. He had multiple papers laid out, a leather bound journal in his lap containing a great deal of his sloping writing, and a few papers and photos magically floating to the side. He glared a moment longer before his eyebrows shot up into his fringe, and he slammed his chair down on all four legs. Excited scribbles worked their way across his journal, and he let out an incredulous laugh with a shake of his head. He went to grab an orange colored form when he looked up and saw Angelina. The floating papers and photos fell to his desk along with the forgotten form.

He quickly stood to his full height and walked over, a look of concern on his face.

"Everything ok?" He looked poised to apparate on the spot.

"Oh yeah," she smiled, doing her best to assure him. "Sorry. I really should have owled or something... It's definitely not an emergency or anything this time. I just need to talk to you when you have a moment."

He let out a long breath and gave her a relieved smile.

"Ok, good good. I thought— Well… Of course we can talk," Ron said, giving a nod. "Can you give me a few minutes to wrap this up?"

He gestured to his paperwork. Angelina quickly nodded.

"Right. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable to wait," said Ron, looking around over the cubicles. "Oy! O'Shea!"

"Yes sir?" said a young recruit, quickly running up to Ron's desk and rigidly waiting for an order.

"Could you find an interview room for Mz Johnson, here?"

"Yes sir," he said, giving Angelina a glare.

"Swipe that look off your face, O'Shea. She's a guest, not a suspect. Get her anything she needs, and snap to it, Cadet " said Ron with so much authority Angelina had to do a double take.

It was hard to reconcile this composed imposing figure of a man with the insecure teen she'd had to coach through Quidditch games just five years prior. Not for the first time in the past few years, she was proud to see how he'd grown up, but also sad that he'd had to grow up so quickly. No one at twenty should be so battleworn and have so much on their plate.

O'Shea gave a scared salute to Ron, whose mouth tugged a bit.

"Don't worry yourself, mate. Just try to stay neutral next time, yeah?"

"Yes sir, Auror Weasley."

Ron waved them off with an amused shake of his head as he turned back to his work.

O'Shea led Angelina of down a hall she'd only been down once before.

"You new to the academy?"

"Yes Ma'am, six months in," O'Shea said with a nod.

O'Shea fixed her up with some tea and pitcher of water, leaving her in one of their 'soft interview' rooms. Instead of the cold steel and tile of an interrogation cell, this room was rather comfortable, with plush furniture, a basket of children's toys, magazines, and warm lighting.

Angelina grabbed an out of date Quidditch magazine, but found herself unable to take in anything she read. She felt guilty for just showing up at Ron's desk without so much as owling ahead. After everything they'd been through the past two years, it really wasn't responsible of her to pop up like that when it wasn't an emergency. She knew under normal circumstances it shouldn't be a big deal to show up like this, but George had created a new standard for normal.

After Fred died, George was rightfully a complete mess.

One month in he was staying at a muggle hotel and refused to do anything associated with the wizarding world. Really he was just avoiding anything that held memories of Fred, but unfortunately that meant distancing himself from everyone and everything he knew. It took coaxing, but he finally began to do things with his family again after a month or so. He'd look you in the eyes, but it was as if George wasn't in there.

Two months in, his spirits were slowly improving. At times he seemed to be something like his old self, occasional laughs and smiles coming out of him without provocation. Angelina was spending time with him three to four days a week. and it was good to see him cracking jokes again. Sure, his smile didn't reach his eyes much, and his jokes seemed forced, but he was trying. The worst was when he'd say part of a punchline and pause, as if waiting for Fred to back him up with another witty retort. George was so used to his sentences being finished or begun by Fred, that he didn't seem to know how to hold conversations at times. When this happened, he would act out a ritual of sorts: He'd smirk, raise his glass in a silent toast, and take a gulp.

Five months in was when Angelina began to really take notice George's drinking habits. At first his drinking didn't seem all that problematic, or even noticeable. He was just drinking to toast Harry's birthday, or Ginny's birthday, or Bill and Fleur's pregnancy announcement. He was having an Irish coffee because it was Tuesday. He was doing shots because it was Lee Jordan's birthday, and then Percy's birthday. He was drinking heavily because he and his brothers were having a night out to celebrate brotherhood. He was drunk because he'd seen something that reminded him of Fred and was toasting him repeatedly. He arrived at dinner tipsy because it was Hermione's birthday and someone should celebrate her, right? Another Irish coffee day because it was cold outside that morning. Maybe a little extra Irish without the coffee- what's the big deal? She realized it was harder and harder to think of a moment George didn't have a drink of some sort in his hand.

Six and a half months in, he ordered drinks with every meal. He'd show up to events already smelling vaguely of whiskey. He would apparate and crash into things. Harry and Ron had needed to pull him aside a few times and give him warnings for apparating under the influence. That didn't stop him, though. George kept apparating no matter how drunk he was. He kept causing incidents, and getting spotted by muggles. It got so bad the Aurors were about to put an alcohol sensing trace on his apparition. They would have, if not for the intervention of Ron. If it weren't for Ron cleaning up his messes, along with other various family members (including Harry and Hermione), George would probably have been jailed for all the crazy crap he kept pulling. Under protest, George started to kip on couches multiple nights a week. He'd say he was too tired to apparate, but it was an unspoken understanding that this he was just too drunk to legally apparate. He showed up at Angelina's flat sloshed quite a lot, wanting to talk about quidditch, muggles, funny animals— anything other than Fred and past memories. One night he slurily confessed he could only really laugh now, if he had a drink in him. She'd looked up at him hoping he was joking. He wasn't.

Seven months in, Angelina asked George over on a chilly December evening. She prepared her home for his visit, and dug her nails into her hands to keep her alert edginess from showing on her face. She centered herself by breathing in and out. He'd gone to her cabinet ' _for a pick-me-up,'_  to find there was no alcohol. He made a joke about it, but clearly was agitated that she didn't have ' _so much as a butterbeer_ ' in the house. He made offer after offer of places he could apparate to, so he could restock her home.

As she shot him down, he became more desperate and temperamental, finally letting his foul mood be unmasked when she asked " _Why do you need a drink so badly?"_

" _What's it to you, Ange? I just want to relax a bit, for Chrisake!" he hollowly laughed._

" _Can't relax without a drink going down your gullet?"_

_George made an uncharacteristically ugly face._

" _Careful, Ange," he ground out._

" _Oh, I should be careful?" Angelina laughed. "What are you going to do, George?"_

_George made a mulish face, and for a moment she almost wished he would raise his wand. She'd happily hex him into next week after the stunts he'd pulled._

" _You going to hex me?" she asked, poking him in the chest. "We'd need to dry you out for a day for you to do that, since you're too alcohol saturated to hit anything."_

" _I don't need to take this shit," said George, pushing past her and grabbing his coat._

" _Got a bar to get to?" she challenged him, as he desperately tried to get past her. She used her forearm to keep him at bay as she antagonised him. "Need to get home to your stash of firewhiskey and vodka so you can finish them off alone?"_

" _Get out of my way!" he yelled, a frenzied look on his face._

" _NO! I'M TALKING AND YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN!" she bellowed, pointing her wand at him. A desperate anger shivered through her._

" _You're practically living on people's couches, you're so drunk. Everyone, including your little brother, need to keep covering your arse so you don't end up in jail. You're such a lush, you'll splinch yourself at this rate" she fiercely rattled off. "And you know what George? Sometimes I think we should just let you."_

" _Fine! Let me! Who cares?" snarled George, his eyes becoming wet._

" _I CARE, YOU PRAT!" she hollered back at him. "You are surrounded by people who love you! We all love you so much, but you can't expect us to stand by and let you continue this self destructive lark. If you keep drinking like this, you're going to hurt yourself!"_

" _SO WHAT IF I DO?" George roared back._

"' _SO WHAT IF YOU HURT YOURSELF?'" she thundered at him. "What an utterly stupid thing to say! We already lost Fred!"_

_George angrily wiped at his eyes._

" _We couldn't take losing you too, you selfish tosser," she finished quietly._

_Neither said anything as she lowered her wand. The only sound was their hard breaths. George's expression was hard to read as his brows scrunched together, his fist clenching and unclenching. He let out a deep sigh and his arms fell lifelessly to his side, eyes trained on the ground._

" _There. I'm finished," said Angelina, crossing her arms, jaw defiantly high in the air. For a moment she thought he might storm out of her apartment. If he did, she would not chase him down. She braced herself for him to push past her._

_Instead, George's breaths hitched. His shoulders began to shake, and he slumped to the floor head in his hands. Great gasping sobs came out of him, so raw and painful Angelina stood shocked a moment, before dropping down to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. The sound of his weeping painfully wrenched from his throat. She rocked him back and forth, for how long she hardly knew, a few stray tears falling down her own face into his red hair. She covertly wiped them away. He held her tight, as if she's disappear the moment his hands left her. Slowly his sobs died down until his breathing was almost normal, save the occasional stuttering inhalation._

" _I miss him so much," he thickly mumbled into her._

" _Me too."_

" _I'm sorry I'm mental."_

" _You're not mental," she said with a smile. "At least no more mental than you've always been."_

" _I've been a prat, though."_

" _I won't argue with that. You have been."_

" _I'm going to be a mess for a while."_

" _I know. I'll be with you the whole time."_

_He sat up and they stared into each other's eyes, as he put one of his large hands up to cradle her head. George's dark blue eyes were no longer vacant; instead they were more present and piercing than she'd ever seen them. He looked at her, almost searching for something. His thumb brushed her cheek, he tipped his head, leaned forward and his soft lips were on hers. Angelina found herself unable to move, as shock and something much more pleasurable roiled through her. She was caught off guard, but quickly began to return the kiss._

_What began as warm and chaste, quickly became hungry and needy. He continued to caress her cheek, as his other hand slowly slid down her side to draw her in closer. She grasped him close as his kisses began to trail down her neck. Eventually they found their way to the bedroom, her legs locked around him as he held her aloft, their lips never leaving each other. Moans, caresses, laughter, tangled limbs, and kisses filled the rest of the night until they both drifted off to sleep._

_The next morning she woke to find George staring at her. She felt prodigious guilt begin to course through her body. She had no right to kiss him, yet alone share a night of passion, when he was so vulnerable and broken._

_He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a drowsy smile on his face._

" _I love you," he said simply. She wanted to hold onto her guilt, but found it difficult when she felt warm elation rushing through her._

" _Don't say it back," he said taking a finger and hushing her lips, a small smile on his face._

" _Why?" she asked, puzzled._

" _I don't want to hear you say it back until I'm doing a whole lot better," he said looking away. He sat up and stared down at his hands. "I'm mad about you. I figure I have been for years, really, but… I'm not exactly a good investment right now, ok? I'm all in with you, but I don't want you throwing yourself into a sinking ship."_

" _Don't I get a say in this?" she said, irritation prickling down her spine._

" _Of course!" he said, staring into her eyes again. "You— You do whatever you want. I just… I want you to know if you want an out at any time, you have one. No hard feelings. You don't owe me anything, but if you could just… Please put off saying it back until I'm better… I want to know you're saying it because you love me, and not because you're worried if you don't say it back I'll break. I don't want it to be an obligation… I know it doesn't make sense… I don't really— God I picked the worst day to stop drinking!"_

_He put his head in his hands._

" _Fine," said Angelina, sliding along the bed until they were shoulder to shoulder. "I won't say how much I love you until you're doing better."_

_His fingers shook as he blindly reached over to squeeze her hand._

_For once, it felt like George was actually present._

From that day forward, it was easier to find George in his eyes. He struggled, he had setbacks, he had days where Angelina had trouble remembering why she put up with him, but she found there was no way she could walk away from him. She loved him too dearly. He'd come so far since that night.

Now Angelina needed some help to pull George further into recovery. Part of her wanted to leave it all well enough alone. She and George had a comfortable pattern now. It troubled her, but it was familiar and known. If she pushed George, she worried things could change for the worse. What if she pushed him too hard too soon and he went back to drinking? What if he resented her for breaking their trust and bringing in Ron to help? Or what if he got well and decided he didn't need her anymore?

She felt a burning sensation in the corner of her eyes, and furiously blinked while looking at the ceiling to rid herself of the interloping tears.

She looked around the soft interview room the Auror had led her to, and found a box of handkerchiefs available. She quickly dabbed at her face before banishing the offending cloth as if nothing had happened.

A knock came from the door, and Ron came in with sheepish look on his face.

"Sorry you've been waiting so long," he apologized before sitting across from her.

"It's fine, Ron," Angelina smiled. She honestly hadn't noticed the time pass, she was so caught up in her own thoughts.

"So, what brings you to Auror Headquarters?" he asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about something..." said Angelina. "I guess I should start by saying thank you for all the help you've been to George. You were such an unbelievable help getting the Wheezes mail order up and running with George. Even busy with the Aurors, you've still been able to come up with all sorts of amazing new product ideas and make George actually get enthusiastic enough to work on new things."

Ron's ears turned red and he began to protest. "Anyone could help with that, I just happen to have a bit more time." For just a moment, the grizzled Auror was again the fifteen-year-old Keeper she knew.

"You definitely don't 'have more time' than everyone else. I know how busy your department is, so don't bother saying so. And stop being modest. No one quite 'gets' the whole Wheezes thing quite like you, Ron. I know I don't. People are always going on about how smart Hermione is, but you've got way more creativity and brains than anyone has ever given you credit for."

Ron ducked his head, ears even redder than before.

"Well don't let anyone know. Being underestimated works in my favor, especially as an Auror," said Ron with a wry look. "Chuffed as you're making me, I'm guessing that's not what you came here to talk about."

"No… It's just - " she hesitated, biting her lip. She cast her eyes about the room hoping something would stop her from saying anything. Maybe an emergency, could pull him from the room. Perhaps she could use the quidditch magazine as a distraction. She could just say she came to thank Ron and that was it. She could leave, and nothing would change... The little half-life she had with George would stay the exact same.

Hesitant was not a trait people associated with Angelina. She was known for being brave, resolute, and blunt. The war had changed her. George had changed her. In a moment, with only a few words, she could alter so much in her life.

The seconds ticked by, and she felt uncharacteristically small next to Ron as he patiently watched her. She was suddenly reminded of George. He and George looked related thanks to their coloring, but beyond that they had few features in common, being differently built in every way. They had one shared trait Angelina had never noticed until this moment, though. They had the same penetrating eyes. Their eyes were slightly different shades of blue, but they were the same.

She breathed in and out.

"I came here because I need your help with George," she said with a sigh. There. It was done.

Ron tensed and looked hard at her, but said nothing.

"He's fine," Angelina began, making sure to assuage any worry he had. "Nothing new. But that's the problem, really. He's still depressed, sleeping all day, and just doesn't have enough to take up his time... I don't think the mail order alone is enough for George. He barely fiddles with new ideas, and most of it is handled by other people making and distributing the existing products. He needs the feedback of real live customers, needs to be out there getting socialized, and getting inspired to really create again."

"He needs to open the store," supplied Ron.

"Exactly. I've tried mentioning it to him, but he keeps dragging his feet."

Ron twirled his wand a minute or so, the same piercing look he'd had on his face when solving some crime, before holstering his wand with impressive finesse.

"I'm going to ask for a leave of absence," he said, face set.

"What? No! Ron you can't leave your job!"

"I won't. I can take the time off long enough to get George and the shop set up, though. It's Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The title is plural for a reason. He needs another Weasley, and I'm the only one who can do it. Bill's married with a second kid on the way, Charlie's in Romania, Ginny's busy with the Harpies and Percy…" He pulled a face.

They both laughed at the thought of Percy working in a joke shop. Ron and Angelina spent a half hour planning how best to talk George into it, including getting a portkey to get Lee over for some moral support. Ron was certain Wheezes could afford to hire people to help so George could work his way up to full days at the shop, without overtaxing himself too quickly.

"Maybe we can even convince George to look a bit less 'homeless goblin' so he won't scare away customers," said Ron with a laugh.

Angelina felt those blasted tears chasing her down. She gave a quick inhale and willed them away.

"He's so lucky to have a brother like you, Ron."

Ron pulled a face, unable to reply to such direct praise as this.

"I worry about him so much," she let out. "He's doing so much better, but—"

"But he's not the same," Ron finished for her.

"No… I don't expect him to be the same as before. He never can be, but I want him to be doing a whole lot better than he is now."

"We'll get him there. Together," said Ron, taking hold of her hand. Angelina had never had a brother, but she knew if she had one, she'd want him to be just like Ron.

"Well," said Angelina, trying to sound upbeat. "I better get to my job. We'll work out the details over the next few weeks?"

He nodded and opened the door to escort her out. She briefly saw Harry and gave him a wave before leaving the Auror Headquarters and apparated to her office.

Angelina unlocked the bronze door that read in purple curly letters ' _Galena's_   _Therapeia Physicalis.'_  As much as Angelina enjoyed working for Galena, she was looking forward to the day she could have her own physical therapy practice. She would name it something less ridiculous than  _Therapeia Physicalis,_  an odd mix of Greek and Latin that sounded more like an illness than a remedy.

She turned on the lights with a wave of her wand and sat at her desk.

"It's just a day like any other day," she intoned to herself.

She set the wireless to an upbeat channel, setting up her equipment and paperwork for the first clients of the day. She wasn't completely done with her training, but would be finished in a few months. At this point, she was allowed to treat clients without much oversight, only needing to have her treatment reports approved once a week.

For most of her life, she dreamed of being a professional quidditch player. She did more than dream for it, she planned for it; but those plans were changed for her. A war, and a particularly nasty curse that gave her a significant blindspot on her right side, left her unable to pursue quidditch beyond one rookie year. For any normal person, her blindspot would be a minor inconvenience, but on a pitch with bludgers, and professional flyers surrounding you, it was too much of a handicap.

She supposed everything happened for a reason, or at least coincidence was on her side. In another life, she would have taken up chasing for some team or another, and wouldn't have been there to help keep George together, let alone be with him romantically. The thought of a George-less life made her shudder. For all the heartache they'd been through, George and his blue eyes had come to mean more to her than anything else in her life. She'd think of him, and be frightened with how deeply she felt for him.

Other days, a girlish sort of sentimental giddiness would take over. To someone so independent, she felt ridiculous when she caught herself smiling over him like this. She couldn't help it, though! Daydreaming about him and those big hands that always seemed to know exactly where and when to stroke, grasp, caress and tenderly part… It was hard to resist a good fancying.

"Ah to be young and in love," came a voice, shaking Angelina from her reverie. She looked up to see Galena, as well as the other therapist, Nelson, smirking at her from the door.

Angelina sat up tall and schooled her face to a nonchalant look.

"I can't say how much I love him," she replied, shuffling the papers on her desk into a neat pile. Merlin knew she wanted to shout out how much she loved him, but she'd promised him she'd not say it until he was 'better.'

"You don't need words," said Galena, giving Angelina a pat on the hand. "Right, Nelson?"

"Besotted," he intoned from across the room, hauling some large weights over his shoulders and moving them to the other side of the room. He could have easily spelled them instead, but Angelina supposed he wouldn't have such tree trunks for arms if he did that.

Angelina decided she'd take her teasing without a fight. For once, she was feeling unabashed in her sentimentality. By the end of the day she was fairly tired, but felt renewed energy knowing she'd be at George's flat soon. Maybe it would all be ok. They loved each other. Maybe the time to tell him was fast approaching.

Apparating to a secluded spot, she walked to his flat, feeling a lightness in her step.

She used her key to unlock the door, and let out a gasp. The dinner table was fully set, with a seemingly unsafe amount of candles lit in the middle of it, surrounded by steaming casserole dishes. A smirk stretched across her face as she looked closer at the china George had set out. Each plate was bordered with horribly drawn stick figures doing a number a lude sex acts.

George came out from the kitchen, wearing the apron that had 'Save A Broom, Ride a Quidditch Player' emblazoned across it. He'd shaved his beard down from the bushman whiskers he'd been sporting to a short stubble that made him more handsome than he'd been in a long time.

"Impressed?" he asked with a broad grin.

"I am!" she laughed. "Though I thought  _I_  was cooking tonight."

"Hey, you still can if you really want to," he said, holding up his red oven-mittened hands. She shook her head as he kissed her hand, a feat given how oversized his lobster claw oven mitts were. He escorted her to the table and scooted the chair out for her.

"So what's the special occasion?" she asked, as he served her pumpkin juice, boxed macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, hotdogs, and frozen broccoli.

"Well… It's a couple of things, really," he said, throwing his mitts onto the sofa, looking more serious. "I've, er- I've been sober for a year and a half. Today's the anniversary."

They'd never talked about his drinking in terms of alcoholism or sobriety. He just stopped drinking, occasionally would laughingly complain about how he could use a drink, or make a joke about 'black-out George,' but that was it.

"I'm really proud of you, George," she replied.

He nodded, giving her a small tight smile. He still was ashamed of himself for needing to stay away from alcohol, but she really was proud of how he'd improved and been so disciplined.

"So, in honor of such a big anniversary, which coincides with our first epic night of love making anniversary, I thought it only fair to celebrate. Even shaved my beard. That wasn't for you, though. That was because I was looking too goat-like, and Aberforth kept eyeing me up."

Angelina let out a snort.

"But my final announcement, is the biggest," he said, looking serious. "I'm going to need the key to my flat back from you, Ange."

She felt her smile slip from her face.

"What?"

"My key. I'm going to need it back," he said without hesitation. "You still have it on you?"

She dumbly nodded and reached into her pocket. He'd given it to her the night he'd given up drinking. She gave a thick swallow and looked up at him.

Was this because she'd meddled with Ron today? All because she was trying to help him? She never thought he could be so cruel. She'd been with him through everything. She'd held him as he cried. She'd stroked his hair back as he vomited into the toilet, shaking from alcohol withdrawal. She coaxed him out so he could still have some sort of life. She made excuses for him so he could stay home without any pressure. She loved him through it all, and he wouldn't even let her say it to him. After everything they'd been through, this was how he was going to end it?

Anger began to boil within her. If he wanted his key back, he could fucking choke on it.

She threw it at his face, but he deftly caught it.

She was about to storm from the table, when she heard him say, "catch!"

She caught what he threw, and opened her palm to find her original key, plus two others, all on a keychain that read ' _thanks for all the orgasms.'_

"Magenta one opens up Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Orange one opens the flat above," he said, voice suddenly husky. "I've decided I want to open the shop and move back into the flat. Maybe you could move in with me?"

Angelina froze.

"Have you been talking to Ron?"

George blinked. "What?"

"Just answer."

He made a face of consternation. "I'm asking you to move in with me. Maybe bring up my little brother another time? I've been thinking about this for over a month now, and I think it's time we move in together, I open the store and it just makes the most sense to live in the flat, you know?"

"Then you — You didn't talk to Ron?"

"No," he replied, looking confused.

Tears that had been haunting Angelina, for how long she wasn't even sure, finally caught up with her, and she burst into sobs. The shock of this emotional explosion stunned George, who slowly approached her before kneeling beside her.

"Ange, I love you so much. I promise I'll never talk to Ron again. Or I'll talk to him every day. Whichever you like. I'm really not sure why you're crying."

Angelina looked at him, her face streaked with tears of released pain and happiness. Sobs and laughter began to intermingle until she didn't know which she was doing.

"So will you move in with me?"

She nodded, wiping at her face and trying her best to calm her breaths. In and out. In and out. He smiled up at her, his large hand reaching up to hold her cheek.

"George!" she cried, her voice sounding ridiculously strangled. "I have something to say."

He nodded, though he seemed nervous.

"I love you," she let out. "I love you, and I'm going to say how much I love you every damned day."

Relief flooded his face, he put his arms around her and they kissed, a long perfect kiss.

They parted and laughed, both wiping at their eyes.

"So I  _can_  talk to Ron now, right?" he quipped.

"Yeah, you can talk to Ron!" she said in mock exasperation.

He kissed her again, before whispering, "I love you, Ange."

"And I love you, George."


End file.
